Arriving home early from a trip to the sight of petals scattered over the dining room table, accompanied with the low volume of the stereo as Sinatra played, should be a pleasant surprise. The subtle scent of candles lit, which gives everything a stronger air of romance, should make his thighs quiver from excitement. But instead, why do his eyes sting?

As he places the keys over the small table that is against the wall on the side of the door, he makes a point of not making a sound. His fingertips twitch a little once he kicks his shoes off and leaves the suitcase at the entryway. Everything is so quiet in contrast to the aliveness that tends to take part of the household, if it weren’t for the music playing he’d think there was no one there. He feels anxiety creep up his very pore, because what is all this, really? He doesn’t recall telling anyone he’d be back home and all those who knew about his arrival had been informed of his desire to surprise his lover.

Releasing a small breath, Jimin comforts himself with the idea that he is simply thinking ahead of things, making up stories that just weren’t possible. Like he tends to do. When he was eleven years old he found a pair of sneakers in his house’s basement – they were his size yet he had never seen them before, he was certain he had a twin brother they hid from him all his life, not realizing his birthday was a few days away. That’s what this was – clearly, he was coming to conclusions while missing the big picture. With this in mind, he composed himself, tongue darting out as he along his lower lip in order to moisten the dry plush skin, a nervous habit that he had acquired and continued to perform since he was a child.

The walk to the hall is probably the longest of his life, even if the steps he takes are just a few (and are those rose petals?). He can hear muffled laughter coming from his (their) bedroom – undeniably Taehyung’s – and he smiles despite himself, picturing eyes lighting up – curved up into adorable crescents, mouth forming, what can only be described as a square-like shape, Taehyung is one of those people that get you smiling with them no matter your emotional state and maybe that isn’t such a good thing. Snapping out of his reverie (he’s so in love with that idiot, seriously!) he is forced to recognize the melodic chuckle that collides with Taehyung’s. And it sounds so familiar, he mentally kicks himself for not being able to pinpoint where he's heard it. Really, he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is (is that even the right word?), but holy , there’s someone inside his (their) room with his boyfriend!

He tentatively reaches forward, fingertips brushing against the cold doorknob, he doesn’t grasp it – no, he waits and listens. He is nervous and he doesn’t really know why, but he doesn’t like it. On the other side, they seem to have gone quiet, so quiet Jimin starts to question if he ever heard them at all. But then he hears it. It’s faint at first, almost like the sound of a fist knocking against solid material, but then the sound increases and he can’t help the way his breath hitches. He recognizes that sound, because it hadn’t really been that long since the ones behind it were Taehyung and Jimin. He raises his hand and brushes the back of his hand against his lips, he sighs shakily not because his heart feels like it’s being squeezed (it is, Taehyung holding it in his hand) but because he doesn’t know what to do. He blinks away the glassiness that blurs his vision and finally twists the knob, pushing the door open.

For the first time in his life, Jimin feels like an intruder in his own home.

an ;

this is rlly short due to the fact i havent written anything in soo long i wanted to see how things go like rlly consider this as my comeback from the death lol

its kinda bad i know but hopefully it gets better as we go ????
i'm open for suggestions !! so yeah comments n all that are very appreciated by moi. 
thank u for reading this horror ♡

edit : 
this is a temporary title until i come up w something better